


making my way through the muddy minutes

by Loz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Implied Murder, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 20:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loz/pseuds/Loz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what shame feels like, he realizes. He hasn’t felt it for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	making my way through the muddy minutes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mating Games light vs dark.

This is what shame feels like, he realizes. He hasn’t felt it for so long. It’s been days and weeks and months since he’s felt anything in particular, other than a cheap satisfaction and necessary focus. But here he is, feeling disgraced, embarrassed, like he’s done something terribly, horribly wrong. 

He has. He’s not the kind of evil Machiavellian type who believes he’s in the right and everyone else is twisted. He does _know_ that slicing people’s throats is generally considered a heinous crime. Several heinous crimes. 

But he did it for him and he isn’t going to stop. Even if he wants him to. 

Scott looks so broken. Beaten. Not a single mark or scratch or scar, but he’s clearly been falling apart without him. And now he knows and it’s like whatever was left has been pulverised, ground into dust. 

“Stiles?” he asks, and it comes out croaky and dry.

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Tell me you didn’t do this and I’ll believe you. Tell me you were possessed again. Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

Scott tears up and Stiles feels that nagging, clawing sensation low in his gut again. Half of him likes it. It’s better than being numb. 

“I’ve never been able to lie to you, Scott,” he replies. 

He ineffectually wipes the blood from his hand, sheathes his knife. He saunters close and Scott doesn’t flinch or step away. He can pull him tight with a hand clasped around his forearm. Scott’s heat is intoxicating and Stiles has been cold for too long. He smothers him in a hug, eyes closing involuntarily. For once, he isn’t at high alert. 

“All these people…” Scott begins, hands winding around his back like he has no choice but to place them there, like it never occurred to him to push Stiles away.

Stiles presses a kiss against Scott’s neck. “All these hunters.”

“You think that absolves you?” 

Scott sounds confused. It’s the most endearing thing Stiles has ever heard. 

“I think it gives me justification. They may not have been after you now, but sooner or later they’d try to take you from me and I couldn’t let that happen.”

Scott prises himself back so he can look in his eyes. He still has some hope there, in the depths of his despair. “You have to turn yourself in. You have to come clean. Talk to your dad, he’ll do something to get you the help you need.”

This is what shame feels like, but Stiles says, “Okay, I will. You have to do something for me first.”

“Anything.”

“Let me kiss you?”

Scott’s brow crinkles, his lips pout, but he nods. He even, tentatively, drags his hand up and cradles Stiles’ jaw. 

“You want to remember something good,” he murmurs, smoothing his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone.

It’s as true as it is a lie and Stiles won’t negate it. He takes a shuddery breath, presses forward, seeks out Scott’s warm, wet mouth. Scott opens against him so sweetly, as natural as breathing, and Stiles takes advantage, deepens the kiss until they’re so tightly entwined nothing could tear them apart.

He drags his hands up under Scott’s shirt, can feel a smear of blood, but won’t let it stop him, he needs to touch. Scott doesn’t just allow it, he encourages it, returns it, skimming his hands over Stiles’ hips and rolling them together. Perhaps it’s desperation. Maybe it’s surrender. But Scott moans into his mouth and doesn’t protest when Stiles pops his jeans button, doesn’t squirm when Stiles wraps a spit-covered hand around him. He arches into Stiles’ slow, slick slide.

Scott whimpers, claws starting to poke through his fingers, lightly scoring where they’re pressed against his skin. Stiles has never felt so fragile and so powerful all at the same time. Scott’s cheeks are pink, his lips are glistening. Stiles tries to file the memory away, because he knows he’s going to want to remember this, Scott on the point of rapture. 

“I don’t regret it,” Stiles says, hushed, stroking Scott’s cock with a punishing, calculated rhythm. 

“You can’t mean that?” Scott chokes out, dark eyes beseeching. 

“I only regret the time we were apart,” Stiles admits. 

Scott comes with a full-bodied tremble, expression scrunching. Stiles takes the moment to unsheathe his knife and plunge it into his side. He was careful in his placement, made sure to avoid all major organs. It’s symmetry, he thinks. 

“Don’t follow me.”

This is what shame feels like.


End file.
